


A Missing Gift

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fic, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 02:51:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11545956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: Holmes has his own moments of admiration. Written for JWP #18.





	A Missing Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: References to somewhat obscure historical figures, both human and musical. And absolutely no beta. Written in a huge rush. Be very afraid. I know I am.
> 
> Author's Notes: Written for JWP #18: Dr. Watson, Meet Dr. Freud. ACD based Thaddeus Sholto on Oscar Wilde; Nicholas Meyer had Sigmund Freud cure Holmes of his Seven Percent Solution addiction; Derren Brown hypnotises John in BBC Sherlock’s “The Empty Hearse.” Have a real-life celebrity of whichever timeline you choose make a cameo.

As I have recorded elsewhere in these chronicles, my friend Mr Sherlock Holmes is occasionally susceptible to flattery. More rarely, he is approachable on the side of admiration. Not another’s appreciation of himself, I should clarify, but rather his own admiration of another’s talent or skill. It is rarer at least in part because the world has many more flatterers than it does people of notable genius. But it is also true that my friend, being a kind of genius himself, often recognizes that quality in others, and appreciates it all the more when he finds it.  
  
It was just that sort of appreciation that paved the way for a pair of clients on a quiet autumn morning. My friend would have almost certainly seen them regardless; he still took cases from all walks of life. But his schedule at that time was so robust that he was rarely without a half-dozen cases or more, and he was away from Baker Street as often as not. A personally-penned request from Martín Melitón Pablo de Sarasate y Navascués – whose concerts under his stage name, Sarasate, had delighted both of us – ensured that Holmes was at home to greet the great violinist’s ‘two Italian associates and friends.’  
  
The two men were a study in opposites. Though both clearly foreign, and Italian, one was somehow youthful despite being in early middle age, attractive, energetic, and almost flamboyant in his dress. The other was quite elderly, homely, very deliberate in his movements, and old-fashioned in both air and dress.  
  
He also carried a violin-case.  
  
Holmes folded his hands beneath his chin and leaned forward in his chair. “Good morning, Signori,” he greeted them. “What brings a Genovese consul and a renowned maestro to my humble sitting-room?”  
  
The younger man bounced out of his seat and immediately broke into an astonished chatter of mixed Italian and English. Loosely translated, he said he was indeed a consul of the Bank of Saint George in Genoa, but could not imagine how Signor Holmes had divined so much with scarcely a look. Truly my friend was a magician!  
  
The older man merely smiled a little during his companion’s soliloquy, and gently began undoing the catches on his violin-case. His hands were surprisingly supple despite his age. He lifted an exquisite violin up to his shoulder and lightly plucked one string.  The note silenced the banker and riveted all our attention on him.  
  
“Mister Holmes,” he said in heavily accented but perfectly understandable English, “my name is [Ernesto Camillo Sivori](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camillo_Sivori).”  
  
I have rarely seen my friend surprised, but from the subtle widening of his eyes, he was so now. “Maestro, this is indeed an honour,” he exclaimed. “Is that, by any chance, [_Il Cannone del Gesù_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Il_Cannone_Guarnerius)?”  
  
The old man smiled and shook his head. “No, this is _Il Vuillaume_ – a gift from my master, the very twin of his own great Guarneri. Even he could scarcely tell them apart. It is my greatest treasure. I bring it to you now only so you may know as closely as possible what it is you must find.”  
  
Holmes sat back. “ _Il Cannone_ is…”  
  
The banker did not let my friend finish, but cried out, running his hands through his hair as though he would tear it from his head. “It is gone! Stolen! The jewel of Genoa, gifted to our city upon the master’s death – it has vanished!”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 18, 2017.
> 
> The 'master' referenced in this story is Niccolò Paganini.


End file.
